Albert thought a moment and then added, "Has Frye ever written you admitting he has received or has those proofs in his possession?" "Not a word," answered Uncle Terry; "all he writes is, 'Your case is progressing favorably. I need so much more money,' an' I send it an' lay 'wake nights worryin'." "How long since he has sent for money?" asked Albert. "'Bout a month, I reckon," replied Uncle Terry. Albert leaned forward, resting his face on both hands and thinking. It was a hard case to solve, and knowing the manner of man Frye was, and how nearly impossible it would be to trick him, a past master in all kinds of duplicity, he was at his wits' end. The more he thought the matter over, the harder the problem seemed. "We might have you go into his office with one or two of your neighbors," he said, "to act as witnesses, and by some question get him to admit he has these articles, and then bring suit; but I do not think he would say anything before a third party. We might employ a detective, but Frye is too shrewd to be caught napping. I confess, Mr. Terry, I am stumped, and can see no way out of the dilemma." Then he lighted a fresh cigar and gazed meditatively upon the ocean where the ever-broadening path of moonshine stretched away. Only a little way out the ground swells were breaking upon a long narrow reef, and as it caught his eye there came to him the memory of the pictured wreck he had noticed in Uncle Terry's sitting-room that morning, and Telly's evident wish to avoid all questions regarding it. Then it dawned upon him that that subject might be a tender one with her, and maybe that in some way she felt her history was a cloud upon her life, or perhaps a humiliation. He turned to Uncle Terry again: "How does your--I mean, how does Telly feel about this matter, Mr. Terry, for I suppose she knows the story?" "That's suthin' I hate ter talk 'bout, but as ye'r' likely to see more o' us an' more o' Telly, it's better ye know it all. When she was 'bout ten we told her the story, and showed her the things we'd kep' locked up. She didn't seem ter mind it then, but as she's growed older it sorter shadders her life, as it were. We used ter ketch her lookin' at the things once in a while, an' cryin'. When I sent 'em to Boston she took on a good deal, an' ain't been the same sence. We try to keep her from thinkin' 'bout it all we can, but she's curis in her ways, and I've thought she was kinder 'shamed, an' mebbe broodin' over it makes it wuss." This was a new phase of the trouble to Albert, and one he could not quite understand. "You do not mean that you fear she would make away with herself in a fit of melancholy, do you?" he asked. "I dunno what to think," was the answer, "only I hate to have her out o' sight much, an' the more lovin' she is the more I worry. I've bin sorry at times I ever went to Frye, but it's too late ter back out now."